


The Unwanted Sick Day

by LadyJanriel



Series: Trials and Tribulations [3]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Multi, Sickfic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJanriel/pseuds/LadyJanriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Newt’s terrible illness last semester, the blond made it an unspoken mission to make sure none of his roommates befell an illness like his. There was far too much going on this semester, getting a cold was not something they needed. But, as luck would have it, it was only a matter of time before one of them came down with a nasty germ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thomas

**Author's Note:**

> Thominewt fluffness from my College AU crap because why not?
> 
> This is basically me experimenting with a polyship. I wrote this before Assumptions, but it's part of the same College AU universe.

After Newt’s terrible illness last semester, the blond made it an unspoken mission to make sure none of his roommates befell an illness like his. He urged them to sleep well, drink enough fluids and to always wash their hands before and after every meal. Thomas and Minho were good at complying, seeing as neither one of them wanted to get sick period. There was too much going on this semester, one little sick day could set them back a week if they weren't careful. They weren't going to screw themselves up thanks to a silly little cold.

So, as all things in the world, it was only a matter of time for one of them came down with a nasty germ.

Thomas woke late in the day despite going to sleep early. His night had been restless, filled with nightmarish dreams and discomfort that woke him up at random intervals. His throat felt raw—he winced every time he swallowed—and his head throbbed with such intensity he was sure it would split open. His body felt sore and feeble. Just the idea of moving made him want to pant like a marathon runner. To make matters worse, he was certain he had class today—he couldn’t recall which ones—but he most definitely had class.

He coughed, his whole body flaring in pain from the spasm. With a groan of discomfort, Thomas drew the covers over his head and fell back asleep. All thoughts of classes and assignments washed out by the darkness.

The second time he awoke, it wasn’t any better. He’d kicked off his blankets some time in his sleep, his body unbearably hot. He felt sweaty and listless, moving still seemed like his worst enemy. He was content in laying there, curled on his side with nothing but the wall as company and sleep as entertainment. The silence of the dorm brought on a pleasant hum in his ears. His eyelids fluttered shut, the energy to stay awake now waning, as the soft hum of his own mind lulled him back into a gentle slumber.

The shrill ring of his test tone jolted him into consciousness. He groaned.

Thomas forced his body to move. He winced in complain, lethargic muscles screaming, until he grabbed his phone from the desk. It was a message from Newt.

“Fuck.”

_Where are you?_

Thomas glanced at the time: 12:55 PM, five minutes until Professor Janson’s class (because it had to be Rat Man’s class. God forbid Thomas got sick on any other day that wasn’t English day.) Not only did he sleep the whole morning, but he was going to be late for the one class he shared with his roommates.

He sat up with a grunt, his head suddenly swimming. His phone rang again—another message from Newt:

_You’re late Tommy._

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, wincing at the grate in his throat. It felt like sandpaper scraping against his tonsils. He was sure he sounded worse than it felt.

_Gonna be late. Just woke up._

He barely set the phone down when Newt’s message came wooshing back.

_What? You JUST woke up?? You had classes today. Are you sick?? >:(_

Thomas felt his body stiffen in alarm.

 _I’m not sick!_ He wrote back hastily then hurried to change. His phone rang again, Minho’s name flashing on the screen, but he had no time to read it. He was already scrambling out the door.

 

Thomas was five minutes late when he finally made it to class. Professor Janson watched him like a hawk from his place by the white board, the topic for today already written neatly in black marker. He gave him a sheepish apology then shriveled into his chair, exhausted from all the running. Newt and Minho gave him a look of concern, but Thomas waved them off discreetly. No way was he going to show Newt he had caught a damn cold. He always assumed Minho would be the first of them to come down with something. He was always running in various degrees of weather, sometimes without the appropriate attire and it wasn’t like he was a complete clean freak when it came to personal hygiene. Sure, Newt always told them to wash their hands after everything, but it wasn’t like Minho always complied. He had cheating days! And yet, it was Thomas who catches the cold. Of course.

He caught the suspicious look Newt was tossing his way, how his dark eyes roamed over his form as though it were looking for a clue that would give away Thomas’s well-being. When he didn’t find it, he refocused his attention to the front of the room, but Thomas could still feel those eyes roaming. Newt was keeping an eye on him that was certain.

“Nice of you to join us Thomas,” Janson greeted stiffly. “You will see me after class, of course.”

“Of course,” He grumbled. He sank back into his chair, already miserable. 

“Now then, where was I?”

Newt and Minho waited for Thomas outside the classroom ten minutes after it was done for the day. His appearance had rapidly deteriorated throughout the eighty minutes they sat in that ghastly class. By the time Thomas rejoined him, his face was screwed up in annoyance, his cheeks rosy and his bangs slightly greasy against his forehead. Newt spotted the sheen of sweat gleaming under the light of the hallway.

“You are sick!” he snapped.

Thomas jumped, startled. “No I’m not!”

Newt pulled him close before he could protested and pressed the back of his hand against the boy’s sweaty temple.

“You’re bloody burning Tommy! What are you doing out of bed?!”

“You’re the one who—”

“Minho!” Newt whirled on the older male before Thomas could finish, his eyes blazing with determination. “Get Tommy to bed before that fever gets worse! I have class next, but I’ll be comin’ straight back to the dorm with medicine and soup once I’m done. Do not let him talk to you out of it, you hear me? Don’t.” He gave the track star a scathing glare that had the boy nodding like a bobble head.

“You got it!”

Thomas spluttered for words, but Minho was already dragging him away before he could form sentences.

 

“You shouldn’t have gotten sick, Greenie.” Minho sighed the moment they were back in the dorm. “Now Newt’s going to be on both our cases.”

“Stop calling me ‘Greenie’.” He pouted. He climbed into bed on Minho’s insistence, immediately curling onto his side. “It’s not like I wanted to get sick. It just woke up this way.”

“That’s not how Newt sees it and you know it.” Minho pulled up the thinnest sheet on Thomas’s bed and pressed a kiss against his sweaty temple. “I’ve got classes soon then track, so I’ll see you at five. Want me to bring you goodies?”

“As long as you can hide it from Newt.” Thomas grumbled childishly. 

Minho chuckled.

“You’re too cute sometimes, Greenie.”

“Stop calling me Greenie!”

“Stop being such a dumbass then. I’ll be back later.”

Thomas watched him go forlornly.

 

He woke up to Newt’s prodding a few hours later. He groaned in complaint, feeling worse now than he did before, if that was even possible. 

“I brought medicine.” The blond said. He handed Thomas a small cup of red liquid and a bottle of water. “It’s cherry flavored. It’ll still taste like crap but if it helps with the fever then who cares, yeah?”

Thomas grumbled again, his mind too muddled for coherent words. He gulped the vile medicine and washed it down quickly with water. Ugh, he could still taste the revolting thing on his tongue.

Newt laughed. “You are honestly too bloody adorable. If you weren’t sick, I would kiss you.”

“You and Minho…” Thomas sighed, embarrassed.

Newt glanced at him inquisitively. “Minho and I what?”

“Nothing,” He slurred.

Thomas swayed, the room suddenly spinning. He laid back down with Newt’s careful guidance and passed out before his sheets were drawn.

Newt watched him breathe, worry gnawing at his insides.

 

He was still asleep when Minho returned, bags from the supermarket nearby at hand.

“How’s he doing?”

Newt shook his head. “Still asleep. His fever isn’t going down. He hasn’t moved since I got here.”

“Should we wake him up to eat?”

“No, let’s let him rest. He needs it.”

They watched the prone figure, his chest rising and falling from a deep slumber. Minho squeezed Newt’s hand as a sign of assurance and anxiety. Newt squeezed back just as tight.

“Come on,” Minho began, breaking the silence. “I brought us dinner.”

The blond nodded, silently grateful for Minho’s strength.

 

Newt woke up to the weight of his bed shifting. He jerked at the feel of arms wrapping around his torso and made to pull away, but heard the disgruntled murmur of a familiar voice against his back.

“Tommy?” He whispered. He could barely make out the brunet’s figure in the dark, sleepy eyes not yet adjusted.

Thomas buried his nose into Newt’s back again, heaving a rattling sigh. His body trembled against the blond. Sluggishly, he realized they were chills.

“Tommy, your fever—” 

“I’m freezing.”

“But you’re burning up…”

Thomas murmured something incoherent against his pajamas. Newt craned his neck to get a better view of his boyfriend, but gave up in seconds. Thomas’s grip on him was firm despite the male’s weakness. His body continued to shiver against Newt’s own, gentle as it was.

He was lulled back to sleep soon after.

 

“Wake up Newt. Come on ya shank, wake up!”

Newt stirred into wakefulness, his body rocking uncomfortably. Thomas’s grip on his torso lay limp, his skin still blazingly hot; he could feel it radiating warmth through his own clothes. Minho crouched over them, one knee pressed against the edge of the bed, his hand holding for balance.

Newt stared at him with bleary eyes confused by the sudden wake up call. It wasn’t until he registered the anxiety etched in Minho’s face did he realize something was wrong. He sat up suddenly, slipping out of Thomas’s hold easily.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t wake him up.” 

As if to prove a point, Minho shook the sleeping brunet harshly and watched in distress as the boy lay limp in bed, his face void of discomfort. Newt sucked in a breath. He pressed a hand against the boy’s head and hissed out a curse.

“He’s too hot. We have to take him to the emergency room.”

Minho had his shoes on before Newt could finish speaking. He scooped their unconscious boyfriend into his arms and made way for the door dressed in nothing but a white tank and blue boxers. Newt grabbed the bare necessities from the dresser and followed after, his heart hammering in his chest.

Thomas came around to a dimly lit room he didn’t recognize. A rhythmic beep to his left pulled his attention, the neon green light bright in the dimness. His brain registered the heart monitor before realization set in place. He groaned, distressed and disappointed. His immune system had failed to kick that infection in the ass like he hoped it would.

Movement on his right caught his attention. He turned in time to catch Newt and Minho—Newt resting his head against Minho’s shoulder--stirring awake. It took them both a moment to notice Thomas’s sheepish stare and then another moment longer to realize what that meant.

They scrambled to their feet in a flurry of limbs.

“Tommy!” “Thomas!”

“You’re awake!” They cried.

“You had me worried you git!”

“Geez, you can’t get sick without the dramatics, can you?” Minho teased halfheartedly.

“Your fever was dangerously high,” Newt said, the worry still etched in his eyes. “This is why I don’t want any of us getting sick. It’s dangerous!” 

“How are you feeling?”

Thomas flashed them a placating smile. He felt better than he did all day. He was still sick and frail; his throat continued to ache, but his stomach grumbled in hunger for the first time today. He didn’t notice he hadn’t eaten anything at all that day.

“Better,” He croaked. “Starving.”

Newt and Minho physically settled. 

“Good that,” the blond sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, the relief flowing off him in waves.

Minho sat back in his chair, just as grateful. “You give me tachycardia.” He admitted with a pout.

Thomas barked out a croaky laugh, much to their surprise.

“Sorry,” He chuckled. “Were you guys here all this time?”

“Of course!” Newt frowned in disbelief. “We wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone.”

“You needed us.” Minho added.

“Here,” Newt handed Thomas a tray of jell-o and a plastic cup filled with water. “Eat up. It’s three in the mornin’, you won’t be getting breakfast for a while. We can talk more after you eat.”

Newt and Minho each gave him a kiss then sat back to eat their own jell-o. Thomas smiled to himself, moved by their devotion, but also happy. They loved him so dearly.


	2. Newt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll come back later to fix any errors.
> 
> There's some Newtmas, Minewt and mild Thominho goodness in this one. And Gally. Just a random Gally.

To Minho and Thomas, Newt was like a ray of sunshine. He wasn’t necessarily an overly optimistic kind of guy or saw the world through rose tinted glasses. In fact, Newt was rather solemn. He had a tendency of being grounded and wasn’t afraid to tell them when they were being stupid or not. Sometimes, Newt got into moods where it felt like a dark, heavy cloud was following in his wake. Thomas hated those times, it made him feel like all was wrong in the world. 

Newt was their stability. He would wake up in the morning, dress in the silence and kiss them goodbye. Every day, He would send them a text to get them moving if they hadn’t already. He would meet up with Minho in-between morning practice and classes, and bring him a light snack. He would call up Thomas if the boy didn’t respond to his text and wait for them outside of Professor Janson’s class when he could.

Newt was routine. He was safe. He was comfortable. He was the sun that rose high and bright in the sky. When the sun was cloudy, the world just didn’t seem right.

When Thomas woke up that Wednesday morning, something felt wrong. Gloomy. At first he thought it was literal, the curtains were drawn over the only window in the room, casting a dark enough atmosphere to keep sleep going. His smart phone lay dark on the desk, no blinking light to alert him of a message or the shrill ringing of an incoming call. The clock on the wall read 10:00 AM and the birds outside chirped to a bright, beautiful morning, yet the cool darkness in the dorm made Thomas uncomfortable.

Perhaps it had something to do with the sizable lump on Newt’s bed?

Thomas flew into motion. His scalp nearly grazed the bottom edge of the higher bunk as he hopped haphazardly out of his blanket cocoon. He crashed spectacularly next to the single bed, startling the prone form wrapped comfortably like a burrito.

Newt’s misty eyes peered down at him, his blond hair a knotted mess, his nose tinged pink.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” He complained, his voice odd. “You gave me a heart attack.”

Thomas regained his bearings and sat up on the floor. He gave Newt a quick once over, taking note of the puffiness of his eyes, the redness of his nose and the nasally way his voice sounded. It meant only one thing and Thomas wasn’t happy about it.

“It’s 10 AM, don’t you have classes at 8?”

Newt’s groan cut off into a fit of dry coughs. Thomas scrambled to the mini fridge for a water bottle. He grabbed a plastic cup from the cabinet and hurriedly poured the poor blond a drink before rejoining his side. He watched as Newt drank his fill then fell back onto the bed with a dissatisfied sigh. He gave Thomas a look he wasn’t sure he could read in the dark.

“Don’t you dare say it.”

Thomas’s brows raised in surprise. “I’m not going to.”

Newt’s expression turned defiant. “Tommy, I’m being serious. If you say it, Minho’s going to find out and he won’t let me live it down for the rest of the month. You remember how long it took to get Minho to stop making fun you for getting sick? It’ll be worse for me because it’s _me_.”

He grimaced. Oh yes, Thomas did remember. Minho wouldn’t let it go for two and a half-weeks after he was released from the hospital. He had no doubt Newt would get teased about this for days to come, maybe even months. But more importantly, he was surprised. Minho didn’t know Newt was sick?

“So Minho doesn’t know you’re—”

“Tommy!” Newt hissed, eyes narrowing.

Thomas rolled his eyes. He thought Newt’s aversion to being called sick was cute usually, but sometimes the blond’s stubbornness drove him up the wall. He saddled Newt a deadpanned expression that penetrated the dimness of their room. The older boy pouted beneath his gaze.

“You’re sick.” Newt huffed sulkily. “Didn’t Minho wonder why you were still in bed? You’re always up before him.”

Newt twisted in his sheets to face Thomas properly. He sniffed, wincing at the horrid stuffiness in his nostrils. “He was late for practice. He didn’t have time to wonder.”

“How lucky of you,” Thomas hummed. He set down the water bottle and reached for his phone. “I’m calling him.”

“Tommy no!”

Newt yanked Thomas into the bed with enough force to disorient the poor boy. He flipped the brunet onto his back then straddled him, pinning down his arms in an attempt to keep Thomas from struggling. Newt was deceptively strong despite his appearance. Minho liked to joke that when it came to arm wrestling, Newt would always be the victor. He wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t tell him!” He pleaded. “He’s going to want to help but that’s only going to delay my recovery. I can get better on my own if you just let me rest, okay Tommy? Please don’t tell Minho.”

Thomas testily pulled on his arms. Newt’s grip tightened against his wrists, a testament to the blond’s mulishness. He wasn’t going to let Thomas go until he agreed. 

He exhaled heavily. “He’s going to know when you don’t show up for class, Newt.”

“That’s fine. You’ll be there to tell him I’m okay.”

“And Professor Janson? You’re already struggling in his class.”

“Everyone is,” Newt chuckled softly. He gently shifted so that his head rested against Thomas’s chest, his ear pressed against the boy’s breast. The soft rhythmic thump of Thomas’s heart brought Newt comfort against the pounding in his head. 

“I’ll get my notes from you. You write better than Minho anyway.” He murmured sleepily.

Thomas smiled lazily. He ran his fingers through those golden messy locks, enjoying the way the blond’s body melted under his touch. Newt’s eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evening out.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Thomas whispered, a little regretful. “Or you’ll trap me under your weight.”

“Shouldn’ be so comfortable then, Tommy.” Newt slurred sleepily. “Better than my bed…”

Thomas chuckled. He continued tracing soft patterns through Newt’s hair until the boy fell into a peaceful sleep. With painstaking gentleness, he carefully escaped Newt’s clutches and quietly set about to get ready.

 

He waited for Minho outside of Professor Janson’s class. He spent most of the lunch hour collecting assignments from Newt’s classes for the boy to do. Minho had been unsurprisingly difficult to catch today, but Thomas wasn’t worried. Newt was still sleeping when he left and judging by Minho’s normal amount of explicative in his most recent text, the track stare was still oblivious about their blond haired boyfriend’s condition. It wouldn’t belong now until he discovered the truth, but, luckily, as far as Thomas knew, Newt didn’t seem to have a fever. He was already doing three times better than when Thomas had gotten sick. If anything, the boy seemed to have a simple head cold—nothing lots of rest, water and soup couldn’t fix!

He felt the collision before he registered the pain. Thomas crashed into the wall in an ungrateful display of flailing limbs, the back of his head thudding hard against the cement wall. Lights dotted his eyes before reality whooshed back into place. He was on the ground, his notes scattered everywhere. The back of his head throbbed angrily, a part of him bewildered by what happened, but his eyes zeroed in on a burly build marching past him into Rat Man’s classroom.

Gally kept his nose in the air, his eyes focused solely on his destination, but Thomas could see the smug expression on his rival’s face. Gally must have shoved him into the wall.

_What an asshole!_ He seethed.

Thomas scrambled to gather his notes. He had just gotten to his feet when Minho finally joined him in the hall, breathless and holding a half-eaten rice krispy treat.

“Dear god can Coach Jorge talk!’ The Asian gasped. “Sorry I missed lunch, coach wouldn’t let me go.” Minho righted himself once he caught his breath and shoved the last bit of the sugary treat into his mouth. He gave Thomas a quick once over as he chewed, a frown marring his features. “You okay? You look like you’re about to jump some pathetic shank and where’s Newt? Class is about to start.”

Thomas steeled himself. He cleared his throat. “Newt’s sick so he’s not coming in today.”

“Newt’s sick?” The boy echoed, disbelieving. Thomas nodded. The concern immediately washed onto Minho’s face. “What the klunk are we doing here then!? We should be with him! Nurse him back to health! Newt is sick and we’re in class?! Learning?! What kind of boyfriends are we?!”

Minho made to turn back straight for the dorm but Thomas clutched his bicep, stilling the athlete. He wasn’t strong by any means—in fact he was weaker than the both of them—but Minho was receptive to the boy’s touch. He gave the brunet a petulant look, already knowing what he was going to say.

“This is exactly the reason why Newt didn’t tell you he was sick. He needs us to take good notes today, Minho. It’s just a head cold, he’ll be okay. All he needs is rest and you won’t be giving it to him if you try to pamper him!”

“You weren’t complaining when I pampered you.”

“Yes I was!”

Minho opened his mouth in retort, but found he had nothing to say. He snapped it shut, a childish pout forming on his lips. He released a sigh through his nose and gave Thomas a curt nod in defeat. Thomas flashed him a grateful smile. They stepped into Janson’s class without another word, both wishing they could be with their blond boyfriend back at the dorm.

 

Thomas’s day was shorter than Minho’s. No matter how much he protested, Thomas sent the athlete to his next class with the promise of updating him on Newt’s condition. It didn’t satisfy him, but it was enough to keep Minho from ditching the rest of his classes. Thomas doubted Minho would go to his afternoon practice though.

Newt was still in bed when Thomas returned that afternoon. He was propped against a throne of pillows he had stolen from their beds, a cup of banana flavored yogurt nursed in his hands. He was invested in a movie on Netflix, a box of tissues was placed on the desk beside him and their small garbage can nearly overflowing with said tissues stood just underneath the desk.

“Hey,” Thomas greeted with a smile. He dumped Newt’s workload on the desk, wincing slightly as it rattled under its weight. (It wasn’t so much because it was heavy, but rather Thomas had dropped it from an unnecessary height.) His smile turned sheepish at Newt’s stare. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. You’ll be the one paying for that if it breaks.” He chided. He lowered the volume on the TV then turned to Thomas inquisitively. “How did Minho take it?”

“Oh he’s upset.” Newt groaned. “I’m positive he’s going to skip afternoon practice just to see you.”

“That bloody idiot.”

Thomas joined Newt on the bed, letting the blond lean his head against his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

“Loads better.” He murmured. “With some medicine and more rest, I’ll be good as new by tomorrow.”

“For someone who gets sick a lot, you don’t stay sick for long.” The brunet chuckled.

“It takes a strong virus to keep me down, Tommy.”

Thomas hummed, his mind wandering back to last semester when Newt was sick for weeks with that horrible virus. It still kept him up most nights. The possibility of what could have been haunting him. Newt’s movements snapped him out of his reverie. A pair of soft lips pressed against his temple before Newt climbed out of bed to examine his workload. His brows rose into his hairline. He lucked out this time, his assignments weren’t at all complicated.

“You’re done for the day right?”

Thomas nodded, watching Newt’s movements for any sign of fatigue or discomfort. He didn’t seem to be bothered. In fact, he looked a lot better now than when he did this morning. Thomas couldn’t help but feel relieved and a little envious. Newt was incredibly lucky he could bounce back from colds so quickly.

“Good that. Help me with this then.” Newt said. He dropped half of his assignments into Thomas’s lap. “Minho’s going to try to spoil me when he gets here, so it’s best we get this out of the way before then.”  
Thomas groaned, earning him a playful eye roll from the blond.

“Yeah, yeah. Consider this a favor you can cash in on when I’m feeling better.” He planted another tender kiss on Thomas’s cheeks. “Now, let’s get to work!”

They had just finished when Minho came barreling into the dorm. He scooped up Newt in his arms and hugged the blond so tight Thomas winced just watching them. Newt struggled against him for air and barely managed to suck in a breath when Minho planted his lips against his.

“Minho!” He shrieked, shoving the athlete away. “I’m bloody sick you slinthead! I could be contagious! Blimey, what if you get sick because of that?!”

“Dammit Newt, why didn’t you tell me this morning? I could have gotten you medicine or soup or something!”

“I’m fine Minho.” Newt sighed. “All I needed was an off day from all the stress. That’s it.”

“Good that.” The athlete huffed. “And you’re gonna keep relaxing because I’m here now. Thomas and I are going to take good care of you.” He wheeled Newt around toward the bed and urged the blond to hop inside.

With an exasperate sigh, Newt crawled into the mattress and allowed Minho to draw the covers to his chin.

“Now, we’re going to get you medicine and soup and you’re going to lay here, resting, until we come back.”

Minho ignored the pout of protest on Newt’s face. He grabbed Thomas’s hand with surprising tenderness and led him toward the door. 

“We’ll be back Newt!” He called over his shoulder. “And don’t you dare move from that bed!”

Thomas caught sight of Newt sticking his tongue out at Minho’s back before he disappeared beyond the door. Minho huffed in disapproval, aware of Newt’s childishness. He gave Thomas a silent, challenging glare, daring the boy to laugh. Thomas smiled innocently.

“You shanks and your illnesses.” He grumbled. “Always giving me tachycardia.” He stormed down the hall, dragging Thomas in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gally's encounter will make a lot more sense when I actually upload the mother story these shorts are coming from. In the meanwhile, try not to dislike him, he's really a good person, he's just competitive.


	3. Minho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's safe to say this is probably the most humorous out of the three chapters.
> 
> As always, bear with the errors. I'll return to properly edit these chapters later.

Before Newt and Thomas came along, Minho’s first love was track. It’d been something he was good at since childhood, but didn’t decide to make anything of it until high school. It’d taken him a while to come to that decision, but he’d done it, stuck with it through his high school years and earned a scholarship thanks to his athleticism.

Every morning, just after dawn, Minho would wake up with Newt, kiss the lump sack that was Thomas goodbye and head to morning practice. Sometimes, he would arrive earlier than his teammates and spend the next thirty minutes doing warm ups and lamenting his decision to not grab breakfast with Newt. Sometimes, when Newt felt particularly kind, he would meet up with him before classes and give him a snack, but most mornings Minho fended for himself. He did this every day, in rain or shine, through gusty winds or fluttering snow.

That Friday morning had been a nasty one. The winds were fierce, rain turned to ice and the track field was covered in sleet. The walkways around campus were hazardous and the visibility non-existent. Classes were cancelled for most that day—only the most stubborn of professors to host a lecture, i.e. Professor Janson—and practice for all sports teams were called off, including volleyball which was mostly spent inside.  
But Minho was a stubborn fool. He woke up bright and early, dawned on the WCKED U hoodie, threw on a pair of sweats, wrapped a scarf around his neck and was out the door with his running shoes in seconds. When he returned to the dorm nearly two hours later, soaked to the bone from the icy rain and shivering all over, Newt gave him the lecture of a lifetime. As punishment, he refused to acknowledge Minho’s existence for the rest of the day after that. He had even dragged Thomas into it. Needless to say, Minho sulked in the corner of the room for the duration of the day.

That Saturday morning, as the sun rose slowly beyond the fresh horizon, Thomas felt nice and snug inside his warm cocoon blanket when a loud sneeze ripped through the air. He jerked awake, heart pounding in terror. He frantically scanned the dimly lit dorm in search of the source, his mind reeling. Nothing stood out in the dimness of the room, just the light breaths of his sleeping roommates and the distant chirp of the early morning birds.

He re-scanned Newt’s side of the room for anything he may have missed, but all he saw was the limp form of the blond, dead to the world and ear plugs in place. Saturdays were their lazy days. If Newt had to wake up at an ungodly hour everyday then Saturdays and Sundays were the two days he wanted to sleep past 6 AM. (Not that it mattered. He would just wake up two hours after, but whatever. Newt was Newt.) The ear plugs were a nice investment, one Thomas was regretting on skimming.

Gravity lured him back to his pillow, the adrenaline from his earlier scare now ebbing away. He was just about to fall asleep when another sneeze tore through the air, followed by a phlegm riddled cough. A gruff curse topped off the spiel and now Thomas was sitting upright in his bunk, brows furrowed in concern.

The bunk frame wobbled in movement. Minho climbed down the ladder with careful steps, his ebony hair a bird’s nest of crazy; his expression sour. He didn’t acknowledge Thomas’s presence in the dark from the ladder, or hear the boy crawl out of bed as he wandered on heavy feet into the kitchenette. It wasn’t until Minho grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and cold medicine did he register the brunet’s appearance next to him.

He squeaked embarrassingly high, nearly sending his supplies to the floor.

“THOMAS!” He rasped angrily, gripping the containers tight in his fists. “What the hell man?! It’s too damn early for you to give me tachycardia!”

Thomas gave his boyfriend an apologetic smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. I’m light on my feet.”

“Shuck it you dork. _God_.” He breathed. He gave Thomas a calculating look. He tried to hide the medicine bottle as discreetly as he could from the boy’s line of sight, but the effort was for naught. Thomas had already seen.

“What are you doing awake? It’s almost 7:30. You’re usually dead until 10.”

“Your sneezing woke me up.”

Minho snorted or at least attempted to. The sound came across more like a snotty gurgle. The wince that crossed the older boy’s face gave Thomas the impression he swallowed a nasty bit of phlegm.

“I did not sneeze. You must be hearing things.”

“No, I heard you sneeze. The heart attack I woke up to is proof enough.”

The quiet, half-wheezing, half-liquid laugh Minho forced out made Thomas want to bristle. Of course he’d try to deny it! Minho bugged every one of them about their colds, god forbid they ended up even. He gave Thomas a pat on his shoulder, squeezing it tight in a mixture of affection and assurance.

“Oh Thomas, Thomas—my silly little shuck faced Thomas—I do not get sick. I’m in my prime. I’m healthy, I run every day. I don’t get sick.” He broke into a fit of coughs then, each one a little rougher than the last.  
Newt shifted in his sheets, but remained asleep. Minho watched the prone figure for a moment before removing his arm away from his mouth. Thomas eyed him, his expression impassive.

“You were saying?”

Minho sniffed. “Not a cold.”

“You’re sick.”

“It’s allergies.”

Thomas stole the cold medicine out of Minho’s grasp and pointed to it pugnaciously. “ _Sick_.”

Dark brown eyes danced from the cherry flavored bottle of liquid crap to the unamused brown of Thomas’s eyes. The sulky pout was on Minho’s lips before he knew it.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little sick.”

“A little? It sounds like you have phlegm in your lungs, Minho. You might have gotten pneumonia.” 

“Thomas, you’re a Liberal Arts major. What do you know?”

“Correction: I changed it to Science and for your information, I happen to know a lot!”

Minho chuckled. He poured himself the correct dose of Robitussin then downed it in a gulp. He chugged the cool water quickly, still scowling at the after taste that lingered on his tongue. Once he was done, Thomas pointed to his bottom bunk, earning him a raised brow from the boy in question.

“Your bed?”

“Yeah. It’s easier for Newt and I to watch you if you’re on ground level.” Thomas explained. He felt his cheeks heat up beneath Minho’s impish scrutiny. “W-what?”

The older boy hummed coyly. He drew closer to Thomas, his gaze intensifying. “Oh, I just think it’s interesting that you want me so close to you is all.” He pulled Thomas closer, their waists flushed together, hands on his ass. “Just makes me wonder if you’re…expecting something a little more, y’know?” Minho leaned in, tilting his head sideways the way he would when he was about to steal a kiss, but Thomas gently shoved him away, heat coursing through his veins. 

He ignored the childish pout on the older boy’s face.

“Stop trying to seduce me. You’re going back to bed until Newt wakes up and then we’re going to figure out what to do from there. It’s Saturday morning, so our options are limited for any possible doctor appointments.”

Minho grumbled. He broke out into another series of hacking coughs. He crawled dejectedly into Thomas’s bed, muttering complaints the whole time. Thomas reached for the blankets, hoping to tuck the boy in, but Minho grabbed onto his wrist and pulled him into the mattress. He curled around the shorter male, nuzzling his nose into his chest with a content sigh. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close for a second time that hour.

Thomas sighed in defeat. “Go to sleep Minho.”

A content moan was his only response.

 

He woke up to a discomforting wave of heat and someone running their fingers on his side. Miho’s face was still buried in his chest, those well-toned arms tight around him. The boy was heavily asleep, his breathing deep and body limp. Behind him, Thomas realized, was another body pressed snug against his. He didn’t need to check to know it was Newt.

The blond laid flush against his back, head propped up on his hand. His free hand roamed along the curvature of Thomas’s frame, slender fingers tracing light patterns on top of his pajamas. It felt ticklish against his flesh.

“Mornin’,” He whispered affectionately, snuggling his nose just behind Thomas’s ear. “What a fantastic sight to wake up to.”

“Mm… what time is it?”

“Time for you to wake up.” He purred. He placed a tender kiss just behind the boy’s ear.

Thomas turned, mouth opening to retort when Newt’s soft lips captured his. He pulled away quickly, quirking them into a smile at the boy’s bashful expression. 

“Come on,” he urged, tapping his arm. “It’s Saturday, let’s grab breakfast and see what Alby and the others are doing. Wake up ya shank!”

He nudged Minho’s arm with enough strength to ruffle the athlete. He groaned in annoyance, burying his face deeper into Thomas’s torso.

Newt sighed.

Thomas gave him a pacifying smile. “Don’t be so hard on him today. He’s sick.”

Newt’s eyes immediately narrowed. “He’s sick?”

Before Thomas got a chance to reply, Newt reached across the bed and smacked Minho hard on the bicep. The track runner jerked into wakefulness, a gargled yelp escaping his lips. Newt pinned him down with a hard glare.

“Tommy says you’re sick. Tell me he’s wrong.”

“He’s wrong.”

“Hey!”

“You _are_ sick!” Newt snapped reproachfully. “What did I tell you about running in that weather yesterday, Minho?!”

“Absolutely nothing. You were asleep.”

“Minho!”

“Alright! Fine! So I’m sick. There’s nothing we can do about it now. Can we just get over it so you guys can nurse me back to health?” Minho pouted.

“Oh no, no, no! We aren’t nursing you back to health.” Newt grabbed Thomas’s arm and pulled him closer his way. “Tommy and I are going to grab breakfast. You—” He pressed a finger hard against Minho’s broad chest. “—are going to lay here and wallow in your sickness.”

“No way!” He cried. His voice cracked at the high octave. “You’re not leaving me here alone. I’m coming with.”

“No, you’re probably contagious. You’ll get everyone else sick.”

Minho grabbed onto Thomas’s left arm and pulled him right out of Newt’s grasp.

“Then Thomas stays with me! We took a nap together, he’s probably already sick. And if he’s not—” Minho yanked the boy’s chin upwards, pressed his mouth against his and shoved his tongue inside.

Newt balked in horror as Minho pulled away, a trail of saliva stretching between their lips. Thomas sat there, stunned, embarrassed and slightly grossed out—not because of the action, but because he remembered Minho was sick. The Asian stuck out his tongue childishly at Newt.

“Now my germs will take over Thomas’s body and we’ll be sick together.”

“That’s bloody disgusting,” Newt grimaced. He yanked the boy again, disorienting him. “But there’s still hope. Come on Tommy!”

Minho latched on for dear life, sniffling grossly. A look of repulsion crossed Newt’s face again. (Thomas couldn’t blame him, he was sure they were all going to get sick at this rate.)

“It’s too late Newt, I’ve already claimed him! He’s mine!”

“He’s not sick yet, slinthead! I can still save him!”

They tugged him back and forth like a rag-doll, bickering as children would over a beloved toy. Thomas felt nauseous, their chaotic pulling disquieting his empty stomach. Their argument raised in volume as the minutes wore on. This time, Newt pressed Thomas firmly against his chest as he shoved Minho away with his foot. 

The athlete suddenly pounced then.

He collided into the two of them with enough force, they fell off the edge of the bed and crashed to the ground with a loud thud. The air was squeezed out of Thomas’s lungs, Minho’s weight crashing down on him tenfold, making it hard to breathe.

Newt groaned from under them, irritation marring his face.

Minho let out a victorious laugh that immediately morphed into coughs again. He loomed over them once he was done, cheeks read from the extortion, his lips set into a haughty smile.

“I really like this position, shanks.” He croaked. “Trapped under my weight, submissive to my needs.” As if to prove a point, he rotated his hips experimentally, rubbing his groin against the mounds of Thomas’s butt.

The brunet twitched. Heat coursed through his blood again, though he wasn’t sure if it was from arousal or anger. He tried to shoot Minho an annoyed glower, but found he couldn’t move much to give him the full effect.

A cough sounded from the entrance. The trio stilled, wide eyes cautiously turning towards the door. Teresa smiled at them from the doorway, her hand still on the handle. Behind her stood Aris, a look of disturbance marring his face and Alby, who watched them with raised brows. They stared at each other for a good ten seconds before Minho cleared his phlegm soaked throat.

“Sorry guys, Newt and Thomas will meet up with you all later. I’m a little sick and these shanks promised to nurse me back to health.”

“That’s sweet of them,” Teresa smiled, an amused twinkle sparkling in her eyes. “We’ll see you all later then. Get better Minho.” Her eyes connected with Thomas’s for a moment. She flashed him a discreet wink before closing the door shut behind them.

Minho collapsed on top of them with a dramatic sigh.

“Now that you’re both free—nurse me back to health.”

Newt grumbled. Thomas groaned. Again, Minho’s heavy weight made it nearly impossible to breathe.

Minho flashed them both a bright victorious smile. He sneezed suddenly, mucous and spit splattering his sleeve.

“Ugh!”

“Gross.”

“That’s attractive,” Minho sniffed. “Sorry.”

“Just get off already!” They pleaded desperately.

The athlete huffed, discontent with their attitude, but also amused. He had a laundry list of petty torture he wanted them to suffer before the weekend was through, not because he wanted them to suffer for the sake of suffering, but as revenge for the anxiety he went through during their times of sickness.


End file.
